


Slim Chances

by Bofur1



Series: Pound, Pound, Far Underground [4]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies)
Genre: Angst and Feels, Awkward Conversations, Blackmail, Brotherly Bonding, Chance Meetings, Double Life, Dysfunctional Relationships, Family Secrets, Gen, Khuzdul, Non-Graphic Violence, Protectiveness, Realization, Secret Identity, Threats
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-20
Updated: 2014-12-20
Packaged: 2018-03-02 08:56:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2806823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bofur1/pseuds/Bofur1
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fori was respected by Ardofir, though almost not by choice. Now he had turned around and spilled the most important secret Ardofir had to the slimiest resident blackmailer. His excuse?</p><p>
  <em>“I was protectin’ my wife from him, Ardofir, you can’t judge me for that.”<em></em></em>
</p><p>Ardofir most certainly could!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Slim Chances

“Hello, Ardofir. How are you?”

Ardofir Broadbasher’s customary frown deepened when he heard the slimy voice behind him. “What do you want, Ralmod?”

“Oh, nothing,” Ralmod brushed him off, shrugging. “I just came from an _interesting_ talk with Blade-Driver, though.”

“Why would I want to know this? It isn’t my business if Fori chats with you,” Ardofir said with equal noninterest as he cleaned one of his axes.

Ralmod waggled a condescending finger. “Ah, Fori. You call him Fori and not Blade-Driver. Why is that?”

Feeling a prickle down the back of his neck, Ardofir notched up the power of his glare and directed it over his shoulder toward his fellow crime-lord. “I’ve known _Fori_ ever since he was inducted. He doesn’t call by my title—I don’t know why I should give him that respect.”

“But you do respect him,” Ralmod insisted. “Though it almost seems not by choice.” He paused with a hint of drama in the air. “Does he have something on you?”

“I suppose you already know the answer to that question?” Ardofir countered through a working jaw.

Laughing softly, Ralmod confirmed, “That and one other question, one I actually hadn’t thought to ask until Fori brought it to my attention. Who else knows about your relationship with our unofficial leader?”

Abandoning the axe he was polishing, Ardofir whirled, looming over him. “What meaning would my relationship with Tras have to you?” he hissed. “ _Or_ to Fori?”

“Well, you ought to take into consideration the loyalty of a husband to his Dwarrowdam,” Ralmod explained. “That will overrule the loyalty to a fellow crime-lord any day. Fori’s wife would thank him for trading your secret for her safety. Of course, if you don’t want me speaking of it to you, I’ll leave now.”

“I think for your sake that would be best,” Ardofir agreed venomously.

Ralmod inclined his head mockingly, a smirk playing around the corners of his mouth. “I’ll abide by your wish, good sir—this won’t come up between us again.” As he pivoted on his heel, he added, “I’ll just take up the conversation with Tras.”

Almost before his brain registered the fact that he was moving, Ardofir lunged, seized Ralmod’s throat and cornered him against the stone wall nearby. Before he could even open his mouth to threaten him, however, Ralmod coughed out, “Surprisingly protective of baby brother, aren’t you?”

It seemed an innocent question, but Ardofir saw what was behind it. “You will go nowhere near him,” he spat, his meaty fingers digging into the surprisingly delicate curves of Ralmod’s throat. “If he discovers Fori has talked to you, if he comes to me with even a _hint_ of apprehension in his face because of some threat you made against him, I will find you and I will take your words from you. Best keep your mouth shut at all times unless you want your tongue carved out of your head. Until then…” Slowly drawing a knife from his belt, Ardofir carefully sheared off a lock of Ralmod’s beard. “This is my promise to you.”

Ralmod nodded silently and took off as soon as Ardofir had released his throat. Once he was gone Ardofir picked up the lock of hair and studied it with intent worry, seeing so much more in it, scenes from the long-ago past…

888

Storming into the rickety, lopsided thing he called home, Ardofir made to slam the door and then paused, clenching his teeth and forcing himself to close it gently.

“What’s wrong, my lad?” Ardofir’s mother, Mithira, asked wearily as she flipped the piece of meat she was roasting over the fire.

“People are making fun of my name again!” Ardofir snarled, looking around with slightly crazed green eyes for something he could crush. “Why didn’t Adad name me something close to his as tradition orders? He could have called me _Tras_ or something, couldn’t he?!”

“You always ask this question, Ardofir, and I don’t know,” Mithira replied sadly. “I heard him say ‘Ardofir’ at your birth and that’s what you were named. Deep breaths.”

Ardofir ground his jaw for a few moments more before obeying his mother and exhaling slowly. “Meat for dinner?” he forced out. “That’s new.”

“Your father dropped it off before he left for Desren’s house,” Mithira explained with a weak smile. “He’s…spending the night there again.”

“Of course he is,” Ardofir muttered bitterly. “Was he drunk when he left?”

“Ardofir, please,” Mithira sighed, inadvertently answering his question. “He is your father and you ought to respect him.”

“If I knew who he was, maybe I would,” Ardofir argued. “But he’s so drunk all the time that I can barely understand him!”

“He works for us,” Mithira reminded him. “He provides for us.”

“Sure, when he’s not disappearing for no reason,” Ardofir snapped. “Then he makes excuses, saying he’s off visiting friends. It’s a poor excuse, putting friends over family.” Mithira didn’t seem to have any argument to that. After a long moment Ardofir stepped closer and softened his tone. “Ama, you don’t look well. Let me cook that while you rest.”

“I appreciate the thought, _entlin_ , but we both know what would happen if you tried to cook,” Mithira brushed him off. It was at that moment that her shaking hands slipped, sending the spit off-kilter. Ardofir lunged, hissing in pain as he caught the scalding iron but not the piece of meat, which landed in the fire and combusted almost instantly.

Mithira was paralyzed as her son dropped the spit back into its proper place and extinguished the fire before turning toward her.

“It…wasn’t a good piece of meat anyway,” Ardofir gasped out, clenching his burned hand into a fist against his chest and blinking back tears. “If it burns that easily, I spared us breaking our jaws while chewing it.”

“I’ll get cold water and a wrap for your hand,” Mithira whispered, turning and hurrying away. Ardofir sagged against the hearthstone as soon as she was gone, trying to keep his sobs as quiet as possible.

888

“Adad!” Tras cried, waving at his father through the window before hauling open the door. “Where have you been? I missed you.”

“Same to you, boy,” Dras replied half-mindedly, mussing Tras’s hair as he passed. “Trenzal, my _âzyung_ , where are you?”

“Right where you left me,” Tras’s mother called exasperatedly from the kitchen, setting a meat pie in the middle of the table. “You said you were just going to the pub!”

“I did go to the pub,” Dras countered. “I just lost track of time.”

“You lost track of four days?” Trenzal frowned sourly at him, but Dras easily wiped the expression from her with a firm hug and kiss.

“I’ll make up for it, I promise.”

Following as they started toward the bedroom, Tras spoke up quickly before he could lose them. “Adad, you have to eat before you do that sort of stuff and you haven’t even taken your coat off and I beat off a bully yesterday!”

“Eh? How’d you do that, then?” Dras asked as he gave in and went for the table.

“I used a knife,” Tras answered proudly as he sat next to Dras, immediately following it with a yelp of surprise and pain when his father seized his wrist.

“What?” Dras didn’t look pleased at all by this news. “You drew a knife on another boy?”

“N-No,” Tras stammered. “Well, yes, but not till he hit me first—!” He drew in a sharp breath as his wrist was twisted.

“You listen to me, boy,” Dras said darkly. “You _never_ use a blade on another boy. I see now I shouldn’t have given one to you in the first place.”

“But I didn’t even start it!” Tras cried, his green eyes wide with growing pain.

“I don’t care! I do _not_ want to be blamed if you kill someone. Don’t expect me to come running to save you if you land yourself in jail.”

“He’s not going to land himself in jail, Dras,” Trenzal complained. “Let go of his wrist. He can give the knife back to you after supper.”

“Indeed he can,” Dras agreed sharply, dropping Tras’s wrist in favor of his fork. “And he will.” After taking a bite he added, “Oh, and you need to know I’m not staying long. I need to get back to work; the managers have me in line for a promotion and I’m not going to pass it up. I’m going to stay at the workplace for a few days, so you needn’t miss me.”

As Trenzal tried to protest, Tras fingered his bruising wrist and said nothing.

888

Three days had passed and the burn still hadn’t healed, Ardofir discovered with exasperation. Also, his father had apparently decided to spend more than one night at his coworker’s house. Just as he always did, Ardofir reminded himself sullenly, rubbing the burn against his dark trousers. Still, word had been sent that his father was coming home today, so Ardofir had to put on a bold face for him, his mother said.

Ardofir hated this. He had to put on a front for a father he barely knew just so his mother would feel reassured? She ought to have anything and everything she asked for; she ought to be well-fed and well-clothed and completely happy. Wasn’t that the role of the father, to provide such things for the mother? These were the questions he had been asking himself ever since he was old enough to understand what the habits of drunks.

 _I’m sixty-six years old now_ , Ardofir seethed. _He ought to be training me to fight by now or at the very least training me to_ hunt _so I could bring food to Ama! Instead all he’s feeding us are…lies._

Something in his chest was severed at that moment. Dras was lying to him and to his mother. It was his job to find out what else was being hidden from them. “I’m not going to wait,” Ardofir muttered to himself. “I’m going to have this out with him.”

Mind made up, Ardofir jumped to his feet and seized his cloak. “Ama, I’m going out to meet Adad,” he announced stonily, standing in the doorway of his mother’s small, dimly lit bedroom.

“Oh.” Mithira looked surprised and—much to Ardofir’s chagrin— _relieved_. “That’s good of you, Ardofir, I’m glad you’re doing that.”

“I am too,” Ardofir agreed, though he was certain it was for a completely different reason. “Hopefully we’ll have some good time to talk on the way back, eh? I want to try learning more about him.” Unable to stand facing his mother’s smile any longer, Ardofir whirled and strode out the door.

The walk to the halfway point was one Ardofir hadn’t made often; he always found himself taken aback by how bleak the scenery was. Sometimes he wondered if a cloud had been assigned to his home, for it always seemed as though a cold, cloudy sky hung over them.

 _Maybe after this talk, it’ll clear up_ , Ardofir thought hopelessly as he stopped and rooted himself in the middle of the tall weeds.

He waited for a long while, staring almost unblinkingly into the distance, waiting for the slumping speck that would be his father. When the first doubts and considerations of turning back were coming to him, Ardofir saw him at last. He almost fought against the frown that took over his face but then decided to let it stay. This was about having it out, about having his true emotions and suspicions out in the open.

“Ardofir, what…what’re you doin’ out here, boy?” Dras asked when he was within hearing range, his faltering steps slowing even further. “Why aren’t you at home?”

Ardofir released a pent-up breath and began closing the distance. “I need to talk to you. You haven’t been holding up your end as husband to my mother.”

“Husband to _your_ mother?” a young voice caused Ardofir to startle. “What do you mean by that?”

Dras was equally caught off-guard by the voice, whirling around and allowing Ardofir to see who had spoken. Ardofir stared at the dark-haired boy standing behind his father. After a moment of processing his shock, he demanded, “Wh-Who are you? What are you doing here?”

The boy’s expression told him that he was uncertain whether or not he should answer the first question or the second.

“I’m…following my adad,” he said simply, deciding to go with the latter.

Ardofir’s eyes went wide. That answered both of his questions in one.

888

Ardofir stormed out of the house where his father had been living his double-life and it felt incredible to be able to slam _that_ door, though some of the satisfaction was taken away when the boy who had turned out to be his brother opened it again just as quickly and ran after him.

“Hey! Where are you going?”

“Why do you want to know?” Ardofir snarled, turning on him furiously.

The boy froze, shrinking a little under his sharp green gaze. “I don’t know,” he admitted nervously. “I just…wanted to make sure you weren’t angry at me, I guess. Are you?”

How could the boy expect a simple answer to that? Ardofir wondered, going over what had happened in the field. Both of them had demanded answers of Dras, both threatening to tell their mothers if he didn’t comply. Trenzal and Mithira had been informed anyway, since their sons were too loyal to them and too disgusted with their father to keep it from them. The disbelieving wives had decided to meet and hear Dras out, but he’d had no excuses.

Mithira, tears streaming down her face, had pulled the younger boy to her, taking in every detail. At last she had looked up at Ardofir, announcing brokenly, “You have the same eyes, Ardofir. Green eyes are rare among Dwarves, you know. It’s no coincidence that you both have them. He _is_ your brother; he has to be!”

Ardofir had felt as though the pit of his stomach was dropping to his feet. He had watched how siblings were obligated to each other—he didn’t want to be one of those!

But now it seemed he had no choice. The lad was following him, just like a predictable sibling.

“Are you?” the boy asked again.

Ardofir realized abruptly that he didn’t even know the boy’s name, but he focused on the question at hand. “Am I what?” he asked, trying to level his tone.

“Mad at me?”

Sighing heavily, Ardofir trudged toward the steps on the side of the house and sank down, not protesting when the boy did the same. “No, I’m not mad.”

“Okay, just wanted to be sure.”

The silence that followed was one full of questions from both of them that were deflected by each of them. None of the questions hung in the air, but they continued to stream.

“So...what’s your name?” Ardofir tried at last. Might as well start with the simplest.

His brother looked up at him and smiled shyly. “Tras.”

Ardofir’s stomach clenched, but he tried to smile back so the lad wouldn’t see his bitterness. “I’m Ardofir,” he announced shortly.

If Tras considered it strange that his brother wasn’t named after their father, he made no comment. “Nice to meet you, I suppose.”

Ardofir studied the patch of grass between his feet. “How old are you?”

“Just turned fifty-eight,” Tras announced.

“So you’re my _little_ brother,” Ardofir mumbled gruffly. He hadn’t expected any different, but now that he knew for certain he felt some kind of weight settle on his shoulders.

“Not so little,” Tras sulked. “How old are you?” Tras leaned back, looking Ardofir up and down before venturing, “Sixty-five, sixty-six, aye?”

In surprise Ardofir glanced at him, their eyes locking. Ama was right, Ardofir realized; he and Tras did have the same eyes, except…the green orbs gazing back at him weren’t nearly as sharp as the ones Ardofir saw when he looked in his mirror. _Was Tras’s innocence in my face when I was younger?_ Ardofir wondered.

“I’m sixty-six,” he confirmed.

Tras nodded, pleased by the accuracy of his guess, and slid slightly closer, making Ardofir stiffen against his will. Tras paused before returning to his original position.

“Sorry if I’m making you uncomfortable,” he amended. “What’s your name?”

“I already told you.”

“Not what I meant. I want to know your inner name.”

Ardofir whirled, scrambling away from him but finding his legs too shaky to stand. “Did you really just ask me that?!”

“Yeh, I did.” Tras obviously didn’t regret the incredibly personal question. “Ardofir—” He hesitated, murmuring the name again under his breath, “Ardofir…” Shaking his head as though to free his hair of water, he finished, “—inner names are supposed to be shared with kin, right? We’re not just kin, we’re brothers.”

“Half-brothers,” Ardofir snapped, immediately regretting how harsh his tone was.

Tras shrugged, hurt brief but surely there on his face as he conceded, “Yeh, sure, right now. But if you share your name with me, it’ll be a step closer to being full brothers, eh?”

As much as he wanted to, Ardofir couldn’t pick out a retort from his racing thoughts. Could he share something so personal with this…stranger?

“ _KhulAbod_ ,” he blurted out just before realizing he had spoken it.

Tras nodded, pursing his lips pensively. “Interesting.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means I like it, _khazash_.”

“How can you call me that?” Ardofir barked. “We’ve only just met!”

“Would you prefer to be called by your inner name?” Tras asked in a tone infuriatingly calm. “I can call you _KhulAbod_ if you want to call me _Manashshatul_.”

Ardofir stared at his broadening smile in growing disbelief. _Who is this brother of mine?_ he asked himself, startling then as he rolled the question over in his head. _I’m already calling him ‘brother’,_ my _brother._

“Call me Ardofir. It’s simple and since we probably won’t be seeing much of each other, it’s polite,” he instructed as he got to his feet.

“What do you mean, we won’t be seeing much of each other?” Tras echoed as he too jumped to his feet.

“We live in different homes with different mothers, different lifestyles,” Ardofir tried to explain as patiently as he could. “And face it, the chance that any of that’s going to change is slim. We’re not going to become adults and end up working together, relying on each other for anything. We’re completely independent from each other and I think it’s going to stay that way. In fact, I’m not sure we should even tell anyone that we’re brothers! There’s no reason to.”

Mutely Tras blinked a few times. Ardofir wondered for a moment if his proclamation had stung Tras, but the younger Dwarf simply squared his shoulders and nodded briefly.

“Alright,” he agreed, his tone distantly formal. “You’re right. Chances are slim, almost nothing. It was nice meeting you.”

“Same to you,” Ardofir returned as Tras went for the front door, already feeling as if he’d lost something.

888

“What are you thinking, telling my secret to Ralmod of all people?!” Ardofir shouted, half-expecting Fori to flinch and feeling let down when he didn’t.

“I was protectin’ my wife from Moddy, Ardofir, you can’t judge me for that.”

“And you can’t judge me for wanting to break your nose where you stand,” Ardofir muttered angrily.

“You’re right,” Fori acknowledged sarcastically. “Maybe you should do it; my nose’s been broken so many times, one more might straighten it out! C’mon, mate. Your little brother’s a big boy now—he can take care of himself if Ralmod tries to knock him around.”

“Fori…” Ardofir took a few steps forward, grasping Fori’s collar and bringing his crooked nose in close. “He’s my _little_ brother. He always will be.”

“I wouldn’t know about that,” Fori answered in the same tone. “But y’know that chances are slim Moddy’ll act on anythin’ he knows.”

Ardofir sighed, remembering how he’d once thought he and Tras would have no involvement in each other’s lives. “I’ve learned not to trust the slimness of chances.”

Fori opened his mouth to speak and then hesitated, addressing the Dwarf behind Ardofir. “What’re you doing here, Tras?”

“Am I not welcome, Blade?” Tras asked, shouldering past Ardofir to stand between him and Fori. He took in their expressions for half a moment and then asked, “So what is this about Ralmod?” Fori and Ardofir glanced at each other uneasily and Tras continued, “I personally don’t think much of him. He thinks he knows everything about everyone but actually knows next to nothing, eh?”

Sighing a second time, Ardofir cut in, “We need to talk, _Manashshatul_.” Tras froze at the sound of his inner name and Fori swallowed with difficulty, causing Ardofir to add, “To make a point I needed to be blunt, but if you speak that word to another soul, Blade-Driver, I will murder you in a hideous way. Now, Tras.” As Ardofir strode away, Tras tagged along obediently, just as Ardofir knew he would. _Predictable sibling_.

**Author's Note:**

> Khuzdul Translations:
> 
> Entlin: "dear/duckling/sweetheart"  
> Âzyung: "love" (the noun)  
> KhulAbod: "peace strikes"  
> Manashshatul: "that which continues to seek"  
> Khazash: "brother"


End file.
